


never could be sweeter than with you

by spacenarwhal



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Emotions, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Season/Series 02 Compliant, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7165802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacenarwhal/pseuds/spacenarwhal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not often Foggy is consumed by the certainty that he’s hit any kind of universal jackpot, but this is definitely one of those moments, making out with Matt in his childhood bedroom, slow and without a care in the world. He’s so fucking happy it feels like he’s got a helium balloon swelling wider and wider inside his ribcage. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if his chest burst open and sprayed gory carnage everywhere. Matt laughs at the description, mouth open against Foggy’s throat. “That’s quite the mental picture you’re painting there, counselor.” </p><p>Foggy smiles, “I thought you’d appreciate it babe.”</p><p>[Or: The one where Matt helps Foggy christen his childhood bed in the name of recovering theater kids the world over.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	never could be sweeter than with you

**Author's Note:**

> *crawls out from beneath a pile of research articles* *thrusts porn at the internet* *collapses in shame*

“I’ve never done this before.” Matt half-mumbles against Foggy’s throat, his lips hot and his breath damp, leaving Foggy honestly torn between letting the comment slide so they can carry on and pushing up onto his arms so that he can make fun of Matt properly. What can he say, he’s only a man. 

“Are we roleplaying? Is this a scenario? Do we need a safe word?” He teases, staring down at Matt, his flushed face, the thin, wiry amusement that twists his red mouth into a grin. “Smartass.” Matt chides fondly, eyes fixed in the general vicinity of Foggy’s chin. His fingers squeeze at Foggy’s sides. Foggy squeaks manfully and wiggles to evade any further attempts at tickling.

“Hey, I’m just trying to do my part to keep the flame alive.” Foggy answers breathlessly, plopping down on Matt so that he grunts, air forced out of his lungs at Foggy’s crash landing. Foggy can’t feel too guilty, not when Matt’s fingers lace together at the small of Foggy’s back, keep him in place on top of him.

As far as human body pillows go, Matt’s not a great one. The guy’s all hard planes and sharp angles from his nightly romps through the cityscape. But Matty is warm and his smile is devastating as ever when he lets it loose, his palms firm where they press down on Foggy’s back through the soft, worn-in material of his sweater. “Don’t think we’ve gotta worry about that just yet, bud.” Matt replies lazily, rolls his hips up against Foggy’s and, okay, he makes an excellent point.

Foggy half-groans, half-snorts, buries his face against Matt’s shoulder to keep from making too much noise. He refuses to validate his sister’s wiggling eyebrows or knowing smirk by making any level of noise that might be detected by any eavesdropping ears. But they’re both on just the right side of tipsy and it feels like a lifetime since they last had the time or inclination to do more than pass out in each other’s presence. Life is for the living, Foggy thinks, melting at the feel of Matt’s fingers wandering up his spine in order to tangle in his hair. Matt presses a kiss to Foggy’s temple, maddeningly gentle and completely undermined by the lopsided grin Foggy can feel widening against his skin. “Shh,” Matt stage-whispers, reading Foggy’s mind, “Unless you want everyone to know what we’re doing in here.”

Foggy doesn’t bother lifting his head before rolling his eyes. “Dude, they totally know what’s going down in here.”

“That an offer or a request?”

Foggy pinches Matt’s hip. “Quiet you.” Matt just chuckles softly, sinks just a little bit deeper into the narrow mattress beneath them. Mom pulled the air mattress out of the hall closet and Foggy’s pretty sure he’s gonna end the night on it. But for now this is good, squirming around on the twin size bed like a couple of horny teenagers. Foggy kisses the side of Matt’s neck, loves the trusting tilt of Matt’s head as he tips his chin skyward to give Foggy more to work with. There’s the ever-present rasp of Matt’s stubble under Foggy’s lips when he kisses Matt’s jaw, but the skin under his ear is soft and smooth. Matt breathes in sharply, a sound that borders on a gasp when Foggy mouths at his earlobe and Foggy just about preens with satisfaction at the shudder that runs through Matt’s body beneath his. “Shh.” He whispers against Matt’s ear and Matt shivers again, arms winding up over Foggy’s shoulders, one leg crooked behind Foggy’s knee.

It’s not often Foggy is consumed by the certainty that he’s hit any kind of universal jackpot, but this is definitely one of those moments, making out with Matt in his childhood bedroom, slow and without a care in the world. He’s so fucking happy it feels like he’s got a helium balloon swelling wider and wider inside his ribcage. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if his chest burst open and sprayed gory carnage everywhere. Matt laughs at the description, mouth open against Foggy’s throat. “That’s quite the mental picture you’re painting there, counselor.” 

Foggy smiles, “I thought you’d appreciate it babe.”

Matt’s hands are strong on the sides of Foggy’s face as he redirects Foggy’s mouth, pulls him back until they’re kissing again, his left thumb fanning back and forth over Foggy’s cheek in a hypnotic rhythm. The mattress springs groan when Foggy shifts some of his weight onto his hands, pulls back enough to start shuffling his way down the length of Matt’s body. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe,” Foggy starts, pulling gently out of Matt’s grip, “But this bed didn’t see a lot of action in my days as a bright-eyed theatre kid. You’re pretty much the inaugural visitor—unless you count my left hand, which, I’ll be honest, I’d prefer you did if only to protect my delicate masculine feelings.”

Matt blushes a deeper shade of pink, “You’re right, I do have a hard time believing that. Didn’t they hear you sing?” Matt’s grin is boyish and full of shit. “Tell me you at least brought over your college paramours?”

Foggy snorts against Matt’s chest, pushes up until he’s fully kneeling between Matt’s ridiculous thighs. “How many paramours do you remember accompanying us back here Matty? It would have been a pretty tight squeeze don’t you think?” It was close enough quarters when it was just the two of them, Matt on the bed and Foggy on that ancient air mattress, back when all the fantastical details of their adult lives would have seemed like something better suited for a comic book or a soap opera. 

Matt blinks, and his face shifts, something quick and brutal flicking across his features before it’s deliberately tucked away again behind a teasing smirk. “Didn’t know I was your first.”

Foggy rucks up the fairly hideous Christmas sweater Matt’s been wearing all day, exposing the Abs of Great Justice he keeps hidden away. “That do something for you man?” He asks, a little absentmindedly, fingers quick and well-practiced over the button at the waistband of Matt’s jeans. “Sure you don’t want to roleplay? Innocent co-ed and dashing suitor?” He pushes his palm flat over Matt’s six-pack just to feel the ripple of his laughter, and Matt flashes him a toothy smile that makes his eyes crinkle dopily. 

“Maybe some other time, buddy.”

Foggy snorts, mentally putting a pin in the discussion and vaguely wondering if it isn’t too late to talk Matt into sneaking into the campus law library and making out with him in the stacks. It can’t hurt to try if they’re opening the table to discussion. 

Matt lifts his hips enough for Foggy to pull his jeans down, shoves impatiently at his own waistband and robs Foggy of the fun of hooking his fingers into the waistband of Matt’s underwear so that they come down together. He retaliates by only pulling Matt’s jeans down the length of his thighs, settles himself between Matt’s spread legs and enjoys the tension that runs through them as Matt tests the stretch of the denim. Matt’s thighs flex, warm under Foggy’s palms, dark hair scratchy and thick to the touch, the tendons shifting under the skin make Foggy’s heartbeat quadruple inside his chest. 

There isn’t all that much room to work with here. Foggy’s childhood bed is nothing like Matt’s massive bed back in his apartment or even Foggy’s own decent-sized (though now rarely used) full. But even if Foggy never got to practice the art of the hook up here, the same can’t be said for the twin-size beds in his collection of dorm rooms. He can work wth this. Foggy stretches one leg out behind him, straightens until he’s standing before tugging Matt to the edge of the bed. 

Despite his confidence Foggy winces at the creak of the floorboards beneath him when he goes to his knees. He almost checks in with Matt to see if they’ve caught anyone’s notice. All joking aside, Foggy does not actually want their love life to be a topic for consideration for his immediate family. Not ever but especially not when they’re expected to sit at the kitchen table tomorrow morning over plates of the gingerbread pancakes his mother makes every year and look people in the eye. Foggy has a hard enough time running into Ms. Freire on the stair landing after nights spent with Matt, he’s not strong enough to survive bringing his family into their sex life. Not in front of the gingerbread pancakes.

There’s a kitchen between Foggy and the next closest bedroom, but there’s nothing like the paranoia being back under your parents’ roof brings out in you. But Matt looks like he couldn't care any less, spread out across the ancient comforter and pleasantly tripped out, pink and breathless, wiggling his hips down on the bed in tiny little jerks that Foggy’s not entirely sure he’s aware of. His dick is heavy with blood, red and hard, moisture already beginning to bead at the head, sort of swaying like some like of enticing flower caught in a breeze (a comparison Foggy will take to the grave because Matt would give him so much shit if he ever knew Foggy mentally compared his dick to a flower). Foggy traces a finger along the underside just to feel the shudder that runs through Matt’s body, to see the twitch of his cock at the light touch. Out of all the incredible things Matt’s senses allow him to do, this might be the one Foggy loves best, how it makes it impossible to do anything but feel. It’s Foggy’s favorite kind of power trip, seeing how deeply Matt feels things, how he responds, knowing what he enjoys and giving him what he wants. Foggy makes Matt feel good, a radiant thrill that never seems any less impressive than it did the first time Foggy realized it. “You’re so easy.” Foggy jokes weakly, his own erection trapped within the confines of his jeans, blood pumping so hard he can feel it in every nerve-ending. “Almost makes me think I should hold out on you, Murdock.”

“If you think you can.” Matt shoots back, like the cocky shit he is, but his mouth goes slack when Foggy strokes his finger tip down again, rubs the pad of his thumb over Matt’s balls. “Play nice buddy or I might decide I’m too tired and leave you to fend for yourself.” He rests his chin on Matt’s thigh, curls his fingers fully over the hot length of Matt’s cock, jacks his hand up once just to watch how Matt’s hips lift off the bed to follow the movement. “Pretty sure you’d enjoy the show.” Matt says, voice rougher than before, and Foggy makes a considering sound that’s mostly feigned. Matt does, after all, put on a great show when he sets his mind to it. He’s a talker his Matty, gets his hand around himself and tells Foggy about all the things he thinks about Foggy doing to him, the things he wants to do to Foggy in return. The man has a way with words. 

Right now all Matt has to say is “Foggy” in a half-whisper, Matt’s voice so soft it makes all of Foggy’s insides go _swish_. Matt’s fingers slip into Foggy’s hair, touch light and careful. Foggy’s never needed Matt to beg for what he wants, it isn’t something Foggy wants for himself. This isn't a plea though, it isn’t a demand or even a request. It’s just Foggy’s name and Matt’s careful hand, like he just likes the reminder that Foggy's here right now. 

Foggy lets his eyes fall shut, rests his cheek against Matt’s thick-muscled thigh and breathes in deep, tries to quell his own desperate desire. He’s too old to come in his jeans from nothing more than anticipation. “Counsel makes a compelling argument.” He says, pushing Matt’s legs just a little wider, pressing a kiss to the head of Matt’s dick before taking him in his mouth. Matt makes a low, long moan, his stomach twitching up under the palm Foggy presses flat over his navel. Foggy sucks hard once, bobbing down and then pulling off, one hand petting Matt’s shivering thigh. “ _Shh._ ” Foggy repeats, biting at Matt hipbone, just over a kaleidoscope of a bruise, all purples and blues and sallow greens. 

Matt pulls at the hair still twisted in his grip, not hard enough to be painful but just hard enough to send shocky white-heat down Foggy’s spine. Foggy chuckles under his breath, wraps his fingers around the base of Matt’s dick again before getting back to it. Matt’s breathing turns harsh, his body winds tighter and tighter under Foggy, his fingers squeezing in his hair, pulling a low, guttural sound from Foggy’s throat when they yank, just once before relaxing their hold. Matt’s thighs strain against the restraint of his jeans, try to spread wider but the denim holds. Foggy’s hand runs down the length of his right thigh, cups Matt’s shaking knee in an attempt to sooth him. The mattress squeaks at each writhing twitch of Matt’s hips on the blankets, its ancient springs bouncing and springing back as Matt gives tiny, restless jerks over Foggy’s tongue. “Fog-Fuh—oh fuck Foggy— _Foggy_.” Matt chants, voice low-pitched and full of such desperate yearning that all of Foggy aches for him. There are times when Foggy lives for this, when all he wants is for this to last for as long as possible.

Matt told him in the beginning, red-faced and sheepish, about how hard it was sometimes, how it took every scrap of his effort to keep from coming too quickly. “Hey, if it’s the objective, I don’t think there’s such a thing as achieving it too soon.” Foggy had teased, bumping his knuckles against Matt’s shoulder. Matt had just blushed harder, smile still a little guarded even if he leaned into the touch. “You don’t have to worry you know,” Foggy had confessed in turn against the wing of Matt’s shoulder as he rocked back on to Foggy’s fingers, the muscles of his back tensing, shifting with every fluid move of his body. “If you come—I want that, however it happens, I want you to feel good, you don’t have to hold back here Matty.” He’s crooked his fingers to make his point, rubbed a little harder just to feel Matt clench and shutter. And then, just to be an asshole he’d thrown in, “Do you believe me?”, spread his fingers just a little and twisted his wrist so that Matt groaned, came all over the sheets beneath them. If other nights they bring out the cock ring Matt purchased during one of his illicit late night Amazon sprees, well Foggy’s all about those nights too. 

Tonight isn’t really one of those nights where either of them is looking for slow, especially not when the threat of his family looming large at his back, so Foggy loosens his fingers at the base of Matt’s cock, lets Matt thrust up just a little bit deeper. He sucks harder, skims his thumb over Matt’s balls and further back, to the thin skin behind them that makes all of Matt shiver, shudder, his hips snapping up with a violent roll. There’s a muffled gasping sound and when Foggy glances up the length of Matt’s body he has one hand over his mouth, the heel of his palm pressed against his lips. Matt’s hips arch off the bed, collapse, jerk forward again as he comes in Foggy’s mouth, sudden and bitter. 

Foggy swallows what he can of it, wipes what he can’t off his chin on the knee of Matt’s bunched up jeans. Matt doesn’t even notice, still panting across the foot of the bed, red-faced, hand still held up against his mouth. 

Foggy sits back on his heels, his knees already tender and his thighs happy for the relief, though not nearly as happy as he is to enjoy the sight afforded to him. Matt comes back to himself slowly over the course of minutes, wiggles against the mattress and finally kicks free of his jeans. Foggy helpfully tugs them over and off his ankles, leaves them balled up at the side of the bed for them to deal with later. He even strips off Matt’s socks, kneads Matt’s calves and presses a kiss to the mole on Matt’s right knee. Up on the bed Matt drags in a deep breath. “C’mere.” He says, voice gruff, but his tone is all jello, wiggly and squishy and soft. As if Foggy could ever say no to a request like that. 

The mattress groans when Foggy crawls back on it, as Matt stretches out across the full length of it. Each shuffling knee incites another creak, every bounce another squeak, and it feels like it takes forever before Foggy comes to a pause straddling Matt’s bare thighs, listening for any sign of his family. Matt grins up at him, looking thoroughly debauched and entirely too attractive for a man who’s naked except for a disheveled sweater featuring a red-nosed reindeer, “Don’t worry, we’re good.” Matt says soothingly, hands pushing at Foggy’s own sweater until Foggy gets with the program and pulls it up over his head while Matt’s hands run up and down his sides until they finally go to the waist of Foggy’s jeans. The zipper has never sounded louder to Foggy’s ears.

Still he can’t fight off his own smile, “Pretty sure this is the part where the hook-handed killer gets us.”

Matt chuckles, belying both Foggy’s impatience and Matt’s with a leisurely drag of his hand over Foggy’s belly. Foggy doesn’t giggle but it’s a near thing. “I can take him.” Matt says, adoring and still pink in the face. Foggy leans over him, palms bookending Matt’s handsome head to kiss him thoroughly, tongue sweeping past Matt’s lips. Matt moans at the taste of himself in Foggy’s mouth, one hand roving over Foggy’s back before his fingers find purchase on his shoulder blade and latch on. His other hand finds its intended destination, his fingers close around Foggy’s dick, start a quick and ruthless pace that has Foggy seeing starbursts behind his tightly clenched eyes. 

Foggy whimpers into the kiss, sucks in a deep breath that sounds almost like Matt’s name as he thrusts into Matt’s touch. He wonders if this is what it would have been like, to be young and reckless with desire, trying to get off quietly, too aware of the walls listening in but not caring enough to stop.

“God, Matty—”

Matt’s mouth splits into a grin beneath Foggy’s, untidy but so fucking pleased with himself Foggy half-expects him to ask for a gold star. “You’re so easy for this.”

Foggy groans, buries his face in Matt’s neck. “Fuck, yes.” He’ll give Matt a whole sticker book at this point so long as it he doesn’t stop. He tells Matt as much. 

Matt’s laughter probably does carries through the apartment walls, but Foggy doesn’t care breathing in the smell of Matt’s skin, tasting the sweat on his throat, listening to Matt’s happy coaxing voice in his ear as he says, “C’mon, c’mon, Foggy, c’mon.” Matt’s wrist twists and that’s it, it’s over, Foggy’s body seizes as he comes. Matt doesn’t try to catch it, let’s Foggy spill and smear over his stomach instead. Oh, fucking hell. Matt makes a short breathless sound, and Foggy hasn’t even caught his breath when he starts sliding down Matt’s body again. Matt’s stomach flinches under the first swipe of Foggy’s tongue, ticklish, and Foggy grins as he laps another stripe left of his navel, and another, until Matt’s clean enough that Foggy can rest his cheek on Matt’s abs.

Matt sighs beneath him, stretches out like some kind of lazy jungle cat. Foggy presses his ear against Matt’s stomach, listens to the squishy, whooshy sounds of Matt’s insides as he scratches at the crown of Foggy’s head. It’s probably the closest Foggy’s getting to a beach vacation any time soon, and Matt’s at least sexier than a conch shell. 

Matt’s hand strays into view momentarily and Foggy can’t help but notice the red dashes embedded across Matt’s palm, the left over indentation of teeth from his earlier attempts to keep quiet. Foggy takes hold of Matt’s wrist pulls his hand close so he can kiss the mark softly, keeps his hold on Matt’s wrist instead of letting him go back to petting Foggy’s hair.

“If we weren’t talking role play, what we just cross off your bucket list?” Foggy asks, studying the blunt tips of Matt’s fingers, their assortment of scars and the fading bruises on his knuckles. Matt’s fingers curl over Foggy’s thumb so that they’re practically holding hands. “Hm?” Matt hums, trying to play it cool, but there’s no missing his tell when his other hand comes to rest on the back of Foggy’s neck, plays a little tune in a series of quick taps at the base of Foggy’s skull. 

“You said you’d never done this before, but I know for a fact that we’ve definitely done all of that before buddy. So unless this is you telling me you have Momento about our sex life—which, heartbreak—what gives?”

Matt sort of shimmies under him and Foggy has a single panicked moment where he thinks Matt’s gonna buck him clean to the floor. Instead his fingers twirl a piece of hair, round and round, and when he talks his voice is soft, bordering on sheepish, “It’s nothing, really–just, uh, I guess, I thought it was funny. I’ve never helped christen someone’s childhood bed.” 

Foggy pries his eyes open, cranes his neck to look up at the underside of Matt’s stubble-shadowed chin. Matt’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, “I’ve never—I’m not the kind you bring home, y’know?”

Foggy frowns, his post-orgasmic haze cut down by the incredulous irritation that pokes at him, “What are you talking about?” 

Matt shrugs against the mattress, rustling the bed clothes. He’s quiet for a long minute. Foggy takes a chance, pushes himself up on his palms. He doesn’t push it, not yet anyhow. Instead he strips off his own jeans, pushes them to the floor and then pokes and prods at Matt until he can finally pull the Christmas sweater up over his head. “I hate that thing.” Foggy grumps wholeheartedly. Matt just smirks. “I know. That’s why I wear it.” Foggy sighs. Every year.

It’s a tight squeeze once they’re lying side by side, Foggy doesn’t have any misconceptions about their ability to sleep like this all night long, but right now it feels like the most important thing they can be doing. Matt’s arm closes around Foggy’s shoulder, his knee slots between Foggy’s legs. Foggy drapes his arm over Matt’s waist, strokes his hand over the warm skin of his back.

Foggy’s been bringing Matt home for so long now he can’t imagine what it would be like to come back without him. For more than a decade it’s been him and Matt, dragging their duffle bags of dirty laundry, their backpacks bursting with law books and now, two fully grown adults in their own right, trying to squeeze into this too-narrow bed where Foggy once dreamed of being a Transformer before he grew up and decided he’d rather be a Ninja Turtle instead. And for all that Foggy has a place all his own just a few blocks away, he knows that some part of him will always think of this place as home, his home, no matter how old he gets. 

Matt’s gone most of his life without that. And as much as Foggy wants to offer up his family—his mother’s pancake breakfasts and his dad’s corny jokes and his sisters’ teasing—he knows none of it can fill up the empty spaces Matt’s dad left behind when he died. Maybe it’s the gloom that always seems to settle over people during the holiday season or that inescapable melancholy Matt tries so hard to shrug off himself at the best of times, but whatever the reason, Foggy hates it with a fervor usually reserved for bloodstains on his couch and Matt’s endless disregard for his own wellbeing. He kisses the bridge of Matt’s nose to escape it, earns a weak laugh which almost makes things better. 

“I’m gonna say something really cheesy right now, Murdock, so I want you to listen up because I’m about to use up my supply of cheese for this and next year too and I refuse to repeat myself. You got it?” Foggy draws in a deep breath though there’s nothing difficult about saying: ”You’re the _only_ one I want to bring home.”

Foggy’s face burns; but he doesn’t say anything else, watches Matt’s face intently as his mouth twists like it doesn’t know what to do with itself. “Foggy I—”

Foggy rolls his eyes, reins in his emotions before he does something drastic. Like propose to Matt. God. Karen would never let them live it down if this was their engagement story. 

“I love you Murdock. You know that right?” His heart beats and beats, feels so unimpressive and mundane inside his chest for all the things he feels when he says it. It isn’t the first time—not since they’ve met and not since they turned into the kind of friends who get each other off and plan their futures together—but every time it feels like some part of him is teetering on the edge of a precipice, just waiting to shatter.

Matt’s mouth twitches into a still half-hesitant smile. “Wow, such romance.”

Foggy exhales, pinches at Matt's spine. “What can I say, I’ve got mad game.” Matt’s smile sheds its uncertainty, blooms into something surer as he leans forward to press a kiss to Foggy’s chin. Foggy finds himself scooting back from the gaping chasm of feeling that opens up inside him, falling gently back to safer grounds as Matt’s smile loosens, looks less likely to break at a moment’s notice. His grip around Foggy’s shoulders relaxes, turns soft and adoring instead of bordering on the desperate. “Yes, you’re a beacon of hope for all recovering theater kids.”

Matt draws Foggy in for another kiss before he can do more than sputter with faux indignation, mouth firm but his hand still gentle when he touches Foggy’s face. Somedays, Foggy feels like Matt is incapable of giving the same kiss twice, other times it feels like the most familiar thing he’s ever known, a homecoming he gets to have again and again. Matt kisses Foggy with such conviction that Foggy can’t help but wonder if Matt feels the same way. “I do know.” Matt says, face still tucked close to Foggy’s. Foggy cards his fingers through the short hair at the back of Matt’s head. One day he really will get Matt to the point where he’s comfortable with expressing his feelings without sex or a horned mask to distract him. “You’re— _everything_.” Matt says raggedly, and Foggy’s throat closes tight around the next breath he draws in. On second thought, if Matt ever figures out the secret to feelings Foggy would be doomed. Ruined. Destroyed. Like, way more so than he already is. 

”I promise to only ever use my power for good.” Matt says, burrowing as close to Foggy as he physically can. The arm pinned beneath Matt’s shoulders is starting to go tingly with pins and needles. Foggy half-kisses, half-yawns against Matt’s temple. “Such a fucking liar.” Foggy says, swallowing again so he can pretend he’s got his emotions under control. Matt mouths at Foggy’s skin. “Maybe but, it would only be you.” He says, so innocent that Foggy isn’t entirely sure it’s still part of the joke. 

”Go to sleep Murdock.” Foggy says, enforcing snuggles Matt’s all too happy to comply with. They both go blissfully quiet and Foggy sighs internally, secure in the knowledge he isn’t going to something crazy tonight. Well. Anything else. 

(Because seriously, if he proposes here and now Karen will never not give him shit about it. Safer to wait ‘til morning. Then there will at least be pancakes.)

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: Watched XMA, cried, started summer classes, cried, will eventually finish season 2 sometime before Luke Cage I'm sure. *cries*
> 
> Title from Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes. This was almost titled __  
> well, holy moly me oh my but y'know, I thought I'd keep it classy.


End file.
